


works no longer in progress, 2018 ed.

by pnjunction (justjoy)



Series: {works no longer in progress} [4]
Category: Law & Order: SVU, The Good Doctor (TV 2017)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-09-25 11:09:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17120249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justjoy/pseuds/pnjunction
Summary: Random snippets and unfinished works circa 2018; see chapter titles for fandoms.





	1. the good doctor, pt. 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [terms and conditions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13511301) by [presumenothing (justjoy)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justjoy/pseuds/presumenothing). 



> In this instalment – a whole bunch of odds and ends from different fandoms, probably?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (or: the would-be followup to [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13511301))

"Do you remember the three things I said to you in Wyoming, Shaun?"

"You told me to get in the car," Shaun began, sounding a little confused, even though his gaze didn't shift from the screen. "And to tell you if something at work or elsewhere was making me feel frustrated. Or sad."

And – _ah,_ Lea thought with a muted sort of realisation, a sudden memory on that bus. There it was, the problem she hadn't put her finger on until now.

"The third thing was supposed to be me getting a learner's permit," Shaun was still saying, careful and methodical. "Which you changed to hanging out with you for at least three consecutive hours a week, barring any life-threatening events, and being on call did not count."

Lea almost snorted at how he said _hanging out_ like it was some sort of Martian concept – scratch that, he'd probably be more comfortable with aliens, honestly speaking. She settled for shaking her drink at him instead. "Don't you talk like spending time with me is a _chore,_ Shaun Murphy. I'll have you know, my company is very much in demand!"

"Well, I have not witnessed anyone barging into _your_ apartment, Lea," Shaun said in a perfectly neutral tone, because he was an asshat who'd apparently learned how to sass people with a completely straight face. What were they teaching him at that hospital, really. "Is this one of those things where I'm supposed to just take your word for it?"

"Of course, I'm _very_ reliable," Lea grumbled as Shaun returned his attention to the television. He'd been very diligent about following that last one to the letter, at least, even though they'd nearly missed it that one interminably long week when Claire had turned up at her door with a half-asleep Shaun in tow at approximately oh-dark-hundred in the morning.

("Sorry 'bout this, he wouldn't leave and Dr Melendez told me to sit on him if I had to," his fellow resident had explained in a whisper, even though they'd both been sporting dark circles deep enough to rival goth eyeshadows.

Lea hadn't even paused before waving Claire over to take her couch and steering Shaun back to his own apartment – she didn't think he'd have trouble falling asleep even at her place, not in this state, but he would probably be disoriented enough in the morning as it stood, and there'd been no point making it worse if she could help it. Claire herself was already out like a light by the time Lea returned, stumbling back to bed with a yawn.

Their three hours that week had been uneventful, insofar as half-dozing through mumbled answers to Jeopardy questions could be a restful afternoon in any way, but that was Shaun Murphy for you.)

So it was understandably tempting, very much so, to let the matter go entirely – except. Well. They both knew what lay down that road, and she'd promised herself that she wouldn't let that happen again.

Lea held back a sigh, let herself wonder for a moment what she'd gotten herself into, and spoke before she could think better of it. Because this was a thing she was doing now. "Is everything going alright at the hospital?"

"Dr Melendez has not ignored any of my suggestions since I returned to St Bonaventure." He sounded more uncertain this time, a little hesitant. "Claire's been giving me tips on handling patients' next-of-kin, and Jared said that I could join him for breakfast whenever I want."

"I'm glad to hear that," Lea replied, and she really was, but she also caught something else in his expression, a faint shadow in the blueish light of the television. Time to try a different tack, she decided, and got as far as "What do you – " before she abruptly cut herself off. "Do you know what I consider as being sad, Shaun?" she finally settled on.

He was still looking straight ahead, and if it'd been anyone else Lea would've almost certainly grabbed the remote to hit pause by this point, but she wasn't sure if that would make things easier or harder, on him. "No," he answered slowly. "I don't think I have enough empirical evidence for that, and Claire said that I shouldn't simply assume things about other people's emotions."

"Yeah, that's generally a bad idea," she agreed – and really, she should've realised this so much earlier, Lea thought a little ruefully. "What I said about things that make you sad, I didn't just mean the big events," and she was hearing _It was sad_ over the low whistle of wind all over again, "the ones that change everything, okay? I also meant… like, even when you have a bad day – y'know, when it rains but you didn't bring an umbrella, and then you arrive at work soaking wet only to find that you forgot to charge your handphone. Even that kind of stuff."

"I always bring my umbrella," came the response. "And I never forget to charge my phone, doctors have to be contactable at all times."

"But you get the idea, right?" she asked, just to be safe.

Shaun apparently contemplated that for a long moment. "…I stubbed my toe on one of the hospital carts this morning," he finally ventured. "Does that count?"

Lea snorted so hard that she half-inhaled her drink, but she patted him on the arm anyway, in between coughs. "Yeah, that counts."

 

 

 


	2. the good doctor, pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (or: something with lea and glassman? idk)

Shaun had closed the bus door behind him, leaving Lea to stand outside with Glassman in a silence as awkward as the wind whistling steadily through the junkyard. She didn’t know if he’d meant it like that, meant to shut them both out of whatever was going on in the bus and his mind at that moment, but given everything that’d happened Lea couldn’t blame him for functioning a little on autopilot by this point.

So much for their early start, then, Lea thought, absently pulling her jacket tighter around herself as she looked around. She could vaguely see Shaun’s shadow outlined against the makeshift curtain in the bus window, and caught Glassman glancing in the same direction.

At least Glassman seemed as uncertain as she felt. Which maybe shouldn't have been a fact she felt reassured rather than concerned by, but she was too tired to bother.

"Thank you for this, Miss – "

"Just Lea is fine," she said, cutting him off. It occurred to her for a moment to wonder how often he dealt with _anyone_  outside the hospital, anyone other than doctors and nurses and families and patients.

(Though if she so much as got an inkling that Glassman thought of Shaun in the last group rather than the first, she definitely wasn't above taking a page from Shaun's book and decking him a solid one. Or – well, she didn't have a glass of water on hand, but a snowball would do just fine.

At least he wouldn't call the police on her over it. Probably.)

"Lea, then," Glassman said with a nod. "You can't imagine how worried all of us at Saint Bonaventure have been, with Shaun suddenly going AWOL like that."

He didn't blame her – didn't sound like he did, at least. Lea stayed quiet and let him continue; she'd done more than enough talking over the past few days, anyway.

At least this speech didn't sound rehearsed, so that was one less hospital boss that would be acquainted with Lea's snowballing skills. For now.

 

 

 


	3. svu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (or: a bunch of barson-centric things, from my very /very/ brief svu phase)

"I wasn't sure that you had a first name other than 'ADA', Counselor," Olivia deadpans.

Barba doesn't even look up from whatever paperwork he's filling in. "Maybe I should just make it official, then. Quite the nice ring to it, don't you think?"

 

* * *

> _(post "gone baby gone")_

Rafael drained the last of his scotch, and gave her a long sideways look before speaking. "Well, you did specifically tell me not to. Tell you that it's going to be okay," he added at her blank look.

Olivia stared at him blankly for a moment longer before – _oh,_  she thought, the memory of what she'd said (already? only?) three days ago in the squadroom coming back to her in a rush that left her lightheaded with laughter.

She didn't know which of them was more surprised to hear it.

"People's exhibit number one, Counsellor?" Olivia asked when she thought she could maintain a straight face again.

"Maybe," he answered with that grin just this side of sly. "Unless you're retracting your statement, Lieutenant?"

 

* * *

* * *

> _(post "undiscovered country")_

 

("Lieutenant Benson," Stone had said after today's disaster of an interrogation, "I know I'm not ADA Barba, but – "

And it'd been both better and worse, hearing him still refer to Rafael by the office he walked away from; better, because that at least meant that he'd perhaps listened, might have some idea of the shoes he had no hope of filling, but worse all the same.

"You're really not," Liv had only said, choking back the rest, and closed her office door in his face before she could slam it like she really wanted.

[...]

Carisi’s been a godsend all week, as perhaps the only other person in all of New York who can be counted on to interpret Barba’s shorthand scribbled in the margins of case notes, half-finished skeletons of arguments across legal pads. But even then it's still almost too much to handle, and between one thing after another it’s not until she already has her phone out and calling that Liv realises who’s going to pick up, if he even does.

He answers a second before she can hang up.

“Liv?” says Rafael Barba over the phone, and for a moment it’s as if he never left. “What’s wrong, did something happen?”

[...]

(“Don’t go anywhere,” he tells her right before hanging up, and it takes all Liv has not to call right back, to ask him what the _hell_ he means with that when he hadn’t even given her the chance to say it to him back then, to say – she doesn’t know what. Everything. Nothing.)

[...]

"Rafa," she says back, and bites down on an ugly bubble of laughter: here they are, not a single barrier left between them, and yet to get it feels like they've never been further apart.

"I really was just about to call you, you know," he says – blurts out, really, like it's suddenly and vitally important that she hear that, and Liv's glad at how obviously unrehearsed this is, how he either doesn't have a script or has thrown it out the window. Because she's seen this man talk the world into revolving on his axis; hell, he could probably sell a bridge on fucking Pluto if it came to that, but if this is what she can have of him then she wants – no, she _deserves_  it.

 

 

 


End file.
